


my armor falls apart

by sahwen



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Exhaustion, Fainting, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Literal Sleeping Together, Post-Canon, Protective Sokka (Avatar), Sharing a Bed, Sleepovers, Sokka & Zuko (Avatar) Friendship, Unrequited Crush, Zuko (Avatar) whump, Zuko (Avatar)-centric, my boy zuko is TIRED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 17:47:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25170370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahwen/pseuds/sahwen
Summary: Friends looked out for each other, he supposed, in ways simpler— or perhaps more profound— than sharing the same side of a battlefield.Or: Zuko keeps going, and going, and going, until he can't.[requested on tumblr: zuko pushing himself to the point of collapse post Final Big Showdown after insisting he’s Totally Fine, thus scaring the daylights out of everyone]
Comments: 49
Kudos: 853





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [altschmerzes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/altschmerzes/gifts).



> i'm 21 years old, and i finally sat down and watched avatar. life-changing  
> there's an itty bitty unrequited crush on zuko's end in here if you'd like to put shipping goggles on, but altschmerzes lives in gen land so i kept it as lowkey as my gay heart could.  
> title is from "Five" by Sleeping At Last-- the full lyric is "my armor falls apart / as if i could let myself be seen, even deeply known / like i was already brave enough to let go." i thought that fit zuko really well and it made me soft :')  
> edit (8/22/20): this fic now has the most kudos on my account! which is crazy! thank you guys so much!

Zuko didn’t sleep in the master bedroom of the palace, for many reasons. 

He actually didn’t sleep, _period_ , but his locale for tossing and turning and staring at the high vaulted ceiling remained the same after his coronation. The events of the past year, combined with the looming knowledge that many people within his own nation wanted to take his life, made it a little hard to make it through the night without interruption.

After a third nightmare jolted him awake and left him breathless, he gave up on rest and ventured out onto the balcony overlooking the Capital. It looked different now, without his father’s fascist legacy hanging over the city like a permanent shadow. It was a relief at the same time it kept him awake. 

He let out a shaky exhale and rested against the balustrade. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t _want_ to take the throne, it was just that he was barely seventeen. The gravity of that hadn’t hit him until he had friends his age-- friends in general, really, unless he counted Ty Lee and Mai. He and Azula hadn’t exactly gotten the chance to be normal and hang out with regular kids. 

He wished he could have helped her more. Even with over a decade of her bullying and the nasty scar on his chest, he ached when he pictured her on her own at that institution. He couldn’t shake that need to protect her, couldn’t rid himself of his love for her, in spite of how much she must have hated him. 

When his thoughts turned to his father, that ache became a cold, queasy feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. 

He watched the moon, waxing crescent, and wondered if his mother was out there somewhere, looking at it too. 

It was strange, how people who weren’t dead could still haunt you. 

-

It was a little over a month since Aang had defeated his father, a little over a month of watching his reflection grow more gaunt in the mirror and trying to function on minimal sleep-- three hours was a good night. He couldn’t turn his mind off or slow down the worries that spun around in dizzying circles. Was this how Azula felt? Was this what happened to her?

Well, she didn’t have the family that he did. 

When he and Aang came out of their final meeting of the day-- one that had absolutely gutted him of any remaining energy-- they were all outside waiting for them: Katara, Sokka, Suki, and Toph, who was an inch or so taller than usual. 

“Why are you wearing shoes?” He asked her. 

“The ground is too hot!” She complained. Her arm was looped around Katara’s. “You should fix that.” 

“We’ll add it to the list,” Aang said with a grin. Toph playfully hit his arm. 

Zuko would never say it out loud, but it made the day easier when he knew he’d get to see them. And as mind-melting as it was to figure out how to undo all of his ancestors’ harm, doing it with Aang kept him hopeful. He didn’t think he could ever articulate how much they all mattered to him, how welcoming him into their team had probably saved his life.

But spirits above, he was drained. He wasn’t sure if he could keep up this pretense. He'd finally stretched himself too thin to manage. 

He didn’t notice he was lagging behind until Sokka doubled back and fell into step next to him. It was too hot for a Water Tribe anorak, leaving Sokka in his sleeveless shirt with sweat beading on his collarbones. Spending time in the Fire Nation had added freckles to his shoulders, faint on his brown skin but definitely there. Not that Zuko was looking. 

“You okay?” Sokka kept his voice down. None of the others heard. 

“Uh.” He wasn’t in good enough shape to lie. The summer sun beat down on him, leaving his mouth dry. He realized with a pang of alarm that he was out of fumes to run on. “I don’t know.” 

Sokka peered at him. “You don’t look that great. No offense.” 

He clenched his hands into fists to stop them from trembling. His palms were clammy when he dug his nails into them, and it did nothing to rid the black spots that were appearing in front of him. He came to a full stop, and Sokka stayed with him. He didn’t know if he was thankful or embarrassed. 

“I think I’m gonna pass out,” he muttered, then held up a shaking hand to stop Sokka from interrupting. It was hard to talk; his tongue kept sticking to the roof of his mouth. “Don’t freak out, I don’t-- I don’t wanna scare everyone.” 

“Oh. _Oh._ Uh, okay--” Sokka took him by the arm. “Leave it to me.” 

He couldn’t hear what Sokka called out to the rest of the group over the ringing in his ears. He stumbled over his own feet as Sokka pulled him down a nearby alley, free of people and out of the harsh sunlight. His ribs felt like a cage full of birds, but his vision was tunneling and his surroundings were going a nauseating shade of grey, so he set aside the fluttering feeling. It wasn't important. 

He went down hard, but not as hard as he would have without Sokka guiding him. 

“Woah, woah, please don’t break your knees.” It sounded like Sokka was speaking to him from underwater. “It’d make me look _really_ bad, and I’m not looking to be charged with conspiracy to kill you, you know?” 

He'd evaded startling the whole group, but it came at the price of scaring the daylights out of Sokka. He wanted to reassure him, but he was in no position to. All he could do was groan.

“Okay, alright,” Sokka said. It was like he’d flicked a switch; his jitteriness dissipated, replaced with a calm, level-headed tone in his voice. “Put your head between your legs. I’m gonna take off some of this… Fire Lord stuff.” 

Zuko didn’t fight him. His knees pressed into his temples while Sokka unhooked the red cloak from his royal armor, then carefully lifted the armor over his head.

“Still with me?” 

He hummed his assent, unable to speak, and closed his eyes as the world seemed to tip thirty degrees. Sokka’s hands were cold against his neck as he undid a couple of the clasps on his collar. 

Sokka sat back cross-legged, armor and cloak in his lap. “How’re you comfortable wearing all this in the summer?” 

Once Zuko found his voice, he said, “we aren’t very sensitive to heat.” 

“I wouldn’t guess that by looking at you,” Sokka said. 

That was fair. He’d gone ashen and was covered in a light sheen of sweat, although the threat of completely losing consciousness had waned.

“What’d you tell them?” He asked.

“That we were gonna look at a market stall selling big swords,” Sokka replied. “They seemed to buy it— except maybe Toph. I can’t remember, can she lie-detect through shoes?" 

Zuko lifted his head and pressed the heels of his palms against his eye sockets until he saw colors. He felt hollow and utterly spent. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. Tears pricked in the corners of his eyes and he rubbed them away. He was _not_ about to cry in front of one of his friends. He _wasn't_ _._ His tear ducts, however, were not on the same page. He settled for covering his face until he could get it together. 

“Hey, it’s all fine. I’m just glad you’re okay. You scared me a little.” Sokka hesitated, then patted him on the knee. 

“I didn’t mean to cause a scene,” he said from behind his fingers.

“You didn’t.” Sokka rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you wanna… I dunno, tell me what’s up?” 

He tried to make eye contact and ended up having to glance away. “Sokka--” 

“Keeping in mind that I just saved your skin,” Sokka added. “Not to influence your decision, or anything.” 

His head hurt. He didn’t know how to explain all of it; how his entire family tormented him in his dreams, how his room being guarded each night never did enough to make him feel safe, how he was still overwhelmed with the fear that he was doomed to fail.

He believed in Aang when he said that peace between the nations was possible. It was the part _he_ had to play that filled him with doubt; not whether he wanted to do it, but whether he could. And it was even more laughable, maybe borderline offensive, to tell that to Sokka. The Fire Lord, sharing his troubles with a Water tribesman whose community had been decimated by Fire Nation warriors. Yeah, no. 

“It’s nothing,” he said.

“So it’s _everything_ , then.” 

It was kind of remarkable, Sokka’s level of intuition. Zuko didn’t understand how anyone could think he was stupid. Foolish, maybe, but sharp. And he was charismatic, a quality Zuko knew he lacked in himself. It was hard to look at Sokka and _not_ trust him. 

“... Yeah,” he admitted. “It’s everything.”

Sokka fidgeted with a stray thread on the hem of his shirt. “You wanna get any more specific?” 

“No, I--” Zuko shook his head. “I’m not doing that to you.” 

Sokka didn’t seem to appreciate that. His eyes were so bright and expressive, it was impossible to miss. 

“Alright, well.” Sokka drummed his hands on Zuko’s armor. “We don’t have to unpack whatever that means. When you’re ready to get up, we’re getting something to eat.”

Zuko’s brow furrowed. “I’m not hungry.” 

Sokka snorted. “From one older brother to another,” he said, leaning a little closer, “you think I can’t tell when someone’s been missing meals?” 

-

Sokka took him to The Jasmine Dragon. Gaang protocol for any Zuko-related issue seemed to be making a beeline for Uncle Iroh’s establishment. Not that Zuko was complaining. 

He stared at the wobbly face looking back at him on the surface of his tea. He usually took it plain, but Sokka insisted he add a spoonful of honey. 

“Low blood sugar is no joke,” Sokka warned. “Combined with how you're barely sleeping—“

His head snapped up. “How’d you know about that?” 

Sokka gave him a look. “Your eyebags have eyebags, man.” He nudged the plate of steamed dumplings towards him. “C’mon, eat.” 

There was that intuition again. Or regular old observational skills. He hadn't been masking as well as he thought, apparently. At least not with Sokka. 

He wasn’t going to try and argue, so he took a dumpling. Underneath the constant dread, there was probably a hunger that he just wasn't aware of. These days, he was at once disconnected from his body and so, so aware of it. 

“It’s not that I don’t trust the people who protect me,” he said. He refused to use the term _servants_. “Or that I don’t think they’re capable. I just--”

“You know firsthand what the Fire Nation can do when they’re angry,” Sokka filled in. “I’d be paranoid, too.” 

“It’s not paranoia when it's real,” he protested. “It wouldn’t be the first time my own people betray me.” 

Sokka’s gaze flickered to his scar, then away again as he busied himself with drinking his tea. Zuko didn’t blame him for not knowing what to say. 

They sat in silence for a couple minutes. He ate under Sokka’s watchful eye, feeling oddly mothered, but not in a way that irritated him or made him feel weak. Friends looked out for each other, he supposed, in ways simpler— or perhaps more profound— than sharing the same side of a battlefield.

He remembered that day at Boiling Rock and fighting alongside Sokka vividly. He hadn’t given much thought to Sokka while he was still hunting Aang down, hadn’t seen him as a threat. He would be remiss to think of him that way now. Sokka was calculated and incredibly pragmatic in a way that he almost envied; he was so often overwhelmed by emotion in a way that Sokka was not. 

“What made you want to be a swordsman?” He asked, eager to deflect the conversation away from himself. 

Sokka stirred the tapioca at the bottom of his glass with a long spoon, deep in thought. Zuko didn’t understand the appeal of having to chew your drink. 

“I wanted to be able to protect my family,” Sokka answered. “I can’t bend like Katara, and our tribe was really vulnerable after the raid. I wasn’t gonna let that happen again if I could help it.” He spooned a couple tapioca pearls into his mouth. “And swords are cool.”

Maybe it was the whole charisma thing or simply the fact that what Sokka had said dug deep into his heart and pulled on it, but he started talking before he could stop and consider. 

“Azula was always better than me, you know,” he said, paying no mind that he'd never actually said this aloud before. “Bending didn’t come naturally to me. But sword-fighting was mine. It separated us. I guess I wanted to be good at something without being compared to her.” He smiled a little. “And swords _are_ pretty cool.” 

“Is that why you don’t sleep?” Sokka asked. “Cause you think you won’t be good at this?” 

Of course Sokka would find a way to circle back around to that.

“Being assassinated in my bed kind of takes precedent,” he said, “but I guess it’s partly that, too.” 

Sokka watched him silently, chewing on his thumbnail. Zuko shifted in his seat. He wasn't used to being studied so closely-- well, he _was,_ but usually by his father, and not in a way that conveyed concern or love of any kind. 

“I think it would help to talk about it," Sokka said eventually, "but I'm not gonna make you if you don't wanna.” 

Zuko’s shoulders slumped. “Thank you.” 

But he couldn't shake the guilt that he'd disappointed Sokka somehow. He wished he could explain it wasn't personal. 

“We should regroup with the others soon.” Sokka rummaged around in his pockets and came up with a small coin purse. “If Toph knows I lied, they’re gonna be worried, and Katara's started throwing snowballs at me whenever she's frustrated--” 

“Hold on, wait.” Zuko interrupted him. “You’re not paying.” 

“What do you mean, ‘I’m not paying?’ Shut up.” 

“Don’t make me play the Fire Lord card.” Zuko reached into his pocket and set his own neat pile of coins on the table. “I’m returning your favor. Put that-- _put that away--_ ” 

He reached across the table and grabbed Sokka’s wrist to keep him from putting his money down. 

"I took you here!" Sokka protested.

“You’re my guest,” he said firmly. 

“Let me stand guard at the palace tonight and I’ll _think_ about letting you pay,” Sokka replied. 

Zuko gaped at him. “You-- you’re not doing me _another_ favor, Sokka. I owe you.” 

“I’m doing your _nation_ a favor by making sure their Royal Highness gets some decent rest.” Sokka pulled his arm out of Zuko’s grip and clapped him on the shoulder. “And for the record, it’s not about owing.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all about the bed-sharing, folks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is exponentially gayer than the last one, that's my bad  
> my boy got a crush and he doesn't even realize it :')

He had by no means won the argument at the tea shop earlier, so he should have expected this. 

“Sages, give me strength,” he muttered. 

“Your Fieriness.” Sokka had been accompanied to the front doors by two guards. His boomerang was slung over his shoulder and his sword hung at his side. 

Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose. “Thank you, you’re both dismissed,” he said, waving the guards off to their respective posts, and waited for them to be out of earshot before he spoke to Sokka. “I should have had them throw you out.” 

“But you didn’t.” Sokka tapped his finger to Zuko’s chest for emphasis. 

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” 

“Nope.” 

He sighed. “Fine. Follow me.” 

Sokka trailed behind him down several long stretches of hallways and up a couple flights of stairs. He’d never had guests over, excluding Mai or Ty Lee, but that was different. This was new. He was aware of the palace in a way he hadn’t been before; he knew it like the back of his hand and it tended to fade into the background, but leading Sokka through it had him  _ looking  _ in a way he hadn’t in a long time. The high ceilings, the ornate tapestries on the walls-- he was seeing it for the first time through someone else’s eyes. Sokka had, he assumed, been inside the palace at least once prior, but likely under not-so-pleasant circumstances that wouldn’t allow for time to look around. He hoped it felt different to Sokka with Ozai gone, no longer like a threat. 

Every once in a while Sokka would joke-- at least he thought they were jokes-- about being afraid of him. He couldn’t help but think about how there were kernels of truth in everything. 

“What’re you gonna do about that?” Sokka asked as they passed the royal gallery. “Gonna keep it up?”

“Yeah.” 

His portrait would be in that gallery soon, next to his father’s. Someday he would have children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren that would look down their line of ancestors in that room and, if it all went right, mark him in their minds as a point of improvement-- of  _ healing.  _

“I need to remember who I came from,” he added. “And who I don’t want to be.” 

A couple hallways later, he and Sokka reached his bedroom. He nodded to the two warriors standing guard by the door, who remained silent. If they had opinions about the Fire Lord inviting a Water tribesman inside with him, they weren’t sharing them.

_ Oh, I’m an idiot _ , he thought as they crossed the threshold, more as a matter of fact than a jab at himself. The sky was blue, the sun set in the West, and he was remarkably stupid. Of  _ course  _ there was only one bed. 

“Well, I’ll take the floor.” Sokka brushed past him and toed the carpet, completely unbothered. “Looks soft enough.” 

“No, no.” Zuko’s unscarred ear was bright red at the tip. “There are plenty of guest rooms, I can show you--”

“Kinda defeats the point of me being here to protect you, doesn’t it?” Sokka starfished out next to Zuko’s bed. “Ah. See? This is fine, I’m good.” 

“You’re not sleeping on my  _ floor _ .” He grabbed Sokka’s arm and hauled him to his feet.

“Then what?” 

He stared at the bed. It was plenty big enough. He rarely strayed from one side of it during the night. Having so much space to himself was honestly lonely. 

“We can share,” he said, “if that’s okay with you.” 

Sokka glanced at the bed, then back to him. “Are you sure?” 

_ No.  _ “Yeah.” 

“Okay. But tell me if you change your mind. Katara says I snore.” Sokka sat on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress to test it. “My butt’s never been on anything so expensive.” 

Sokka had the rare gift of making him laugh. 

He lent Sokka a robe, and they turned their backs to each other while they undressed. He couldn’t help but worry if this was okay, or if Sokka would prefer to sleep in his regular clothes. Should he ask? How did he know he was doing this right? 

“You ever think about how everyone has their own smell?” Sokka asked from across the room. 

“... What?” 

“You know how we all have a smell? And you can’t smell your own smell?” 

“Are you dressed?” He chanced a look over his shoulder to find Sokka redressed in the robe, burying his nose in the collar. Fire Nation colors suited him.

“Herbal,” Sokka mumbled into the fabric, then took a long sniff. “Spicy.” 

If Zuko’s face got any hotter it was going to burst into flames. “It’s cloves and cinnamon,” he said. “It’s in the soap.” Out of curiosity, he brought the cuff of his own robe to his nose. It didn’t smell that strong to him. 

Sokka seemed to be oblivious to Zuko’s embarrassment. He pulled his sword from his belt, now lying in a pile of clothes on the floor, and slipped it under the pillow on his side of the bed. Zuko surprised himself with the feeling of safety that washed over him at the sight of it. 

“Do I have a smell?” Sokka asked. 

“Yes,” he blurted without thinking. 

“Really?” Sokka perked up as he got comfortable on the bed. “What is it?”

“Polar leopard.” At Sokka’s affronted look, he hastily added, “Not in a bad way. It’s what some of your clothes are made out of, right?” 

“How’d you know that?” 

“My uncle,” he explained, which was the answer for most of the things he knew. He joined Sokka on the bed but was careful to keep to his half. “He taught me a lot about the other three nations, filled in gaps that my father left.”

“I guess Ozai didn’t have many nice things to say about the Water Tribe?” Sokka stretched out, arms folded behind his head. His legs were long, Zuko noticed. Was Sokka getting taller than him? 

“Yeah, well, nobody’s gonna be listening to him ever again.” He waved his hand, snuffing out the wall-mounted candles and plunging them both into darkness before slipping under the covers. They had a couple minutes of total silence before Sokka spoke up again. 

“What’d you mean earlier? When you said you ‘wouldn’t do that to me.’”

Zuko couldn’t quite tell, but he thought Sokka was staring at the moon through one of the windows. In the dark, he could freely study the slope of Sokka’s nose, the curve of his cheek. His father would have a coronary if he knew a warrior from the Southern Water Tribe was here in the palace, lying next to the new Fire Lord in his bed. That brought him some joy. 

“Zuko.” 

“Huh?”

“Earlier today. I asked you to talk, and you wouldn’t.” 

“Oh.” He’d love to not answer, but that didn’t seem fair when Sokka was here trying to keep him safe-- despite him being adamantly against it, and only giving into Sokka because he had a stubborn streak to rival his own. 

“It would feel wrong,” he said. “You’ve been through worse, and some of it was my fault.”

They lay there next to each other quietly for a minute, and then Sokka spoke up.

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” he said, “that’s a load of sky bison shit.”

Zuko’s eyebrows shot up. “ _ What? _ ”

“You can’t quantify suffering, you meathead.” Sokka gestured wildly in the dark. “And even if you could, who cares?”

“ _ I _ do!” He insisted, fighting against the urge to raise his voice. “My grandfather ordered that raid on your tribe--” 

“And I’m not talking to him, am I?” Sokka turned onto his side to face him. “You’re  _ great  _ at taking the blame for things that had nothing to do with you.” 

“It was my responsibility to speak up,” he said. 

“You were ten, but okay.”

“When I got older, then.” 

“And you did, didn’t you?” Sokka asked. “And didn’t you pay for it?” 

Besides making him laugh, Sokka also had a knack for stunning him into silence. 

He sat up, the blankets pooling around his waist, like being vertical would help him process it better. 

It had been more than three years, but the Agni Kai burned in his memory, like it had been placed there by a branding iron. It had hurt like nothing else; taking Azula’s lightning to his heart didn’t come close. For a long time afterwards he couldn’t face his own reflection, couldn’t bear to look at what he’d become. Dishonor had marred him, made him gruesome. It had been months until the wound actually scarred over. Iroh had to dress and redress and redress it while they were in exile, apply poultices and salves and anything to ease the pain. It would ooze and reopen and weep.  _ He  _ would weep. 

He was essentially blind in that eye; he could only see vague shapes and colors. 

“Hey.” Sokka nudged him with his foot. His toes were cold. “Earth to Zuko.” 

He glanced at Sokka; his heart clenched at the sight of his friend lying there, dark hair freed from its wolf-tail and spilling over the pillow. His mind dashed off to a couple months ago, conjuring up the memory of when he’d walked in on Sokka waiting for Suki, hair undone the same way. He found himself searching for an answer of  _ why _ , groping blindly in a fog in his head. He’d spent years living in confusion and doubt, and that hadn’t seemed to change. He wondered if it ever would. 

“I can’t undo what he did,” he said, “It’ll always be there, in family trees and history books. I can’t bring back all the people he killed.” 

“I think you’re the only person who expects you to do that,” Sokka replied. He propped himself up on his elbows. “You put too much on yourself.” 

“Don’t preach to me,” he said. “Not when I know you do the same.” 

“I never claimed to lead by example,” Sokka said. He sat up all the way, putting them shoulder to shoulder. “I’m just telling you.” 

Zuko buried his face in his hands. “I don’t have a successor,” he said. “If I’m not good--” 

“You’re not doing this by yourself.” 

Usually he didn’t enjoy being cut off, and that wasn’t to say he enjoyed it now, but it was helpful to have someone interrupting his cycle of gloomy thoughts-- a slender brown hand with bitten nails appearing in that fog and gripping him tight, pulling him free and providing some clarity. Sokka could really run his mouth when he wanted to. Zuko had simply sat and listened to him for the most part when they were at The Jasmine Dragon earlier, and it was a relief to do nothing but exist, to listen, to not have to offer guidance or solutions. 

He suddenly understood, that which he’d always sort of known but hadn’t appreciated fully: he liked hearing Sokka’s voice. 

“You’ll have to go home at some point,” he said. “You and Katara and everyone.” 

“Who says we won’t come back?” Sokka bumped his arm. “And you can always visit.” 

“I don’t think the Southern Water Tribe will welcome me in their territory for a while,” he said, but he was struck with the desire to go-- to see where Sokka had come from, to try and help repair it. 

“I’ll welcome you,” Sokka said, like it was as simple as that. 

A lump formed in his throat and he ducked his head to stare at the pattern on the blanket. 

“C’mon.” Sokka rested a hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to lie back down. “Try and get some sleep.” 

For the first time since his coronation, he felt like he might be able to. 

-

He woke to sunlight streaming through the windows and a weight on his chest. He looked to his left to see Sokka with one arm flung over him, palm laid flat over the scar from Azula. He was snoring softly, his face smushed against the pillow. 

“Sokka.” 

Sokka mumbled something incoherent, then opened one eye. “You okay?” 

“Yeah. I slept.” 

“Good, good…” Sokka squinted at him while his eyes adjusted to the light. “D’you need to get up?” 

It was early, judging by the sun. And the longer he looked at Sokka, the more the fog in his head cleared. 

“No,” he said. “We can stay here for a little longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> their convo about individual scents came courtesy of the avatar wiki about fauna in the different nations, and some brief research on common spices used in china (since a lot of inspiration for the fire nation was pulled from china. you get it)

**Author's Note:**

> second chapter is imminent, i just wanted to get out SOME of this fic while i try to wrap up the second half lmao  
> find me on tumblr! i'm back at sahwen  
> (edit: sokka's bubble tea is a reference to a part towards the end of the first post-series comic where iroh invents bubble tea)


End file.
